Dead Like House
by calicoskies4ever
Summary: An alternate take on the HouseWilson “I love you” scene in 97 Seconds.  The boys discus their relationship, and House’s actions. I think it’s just a one shot, but I could be wrong, you never know. Please review no flames.


An alternate take on the House/Wilson "I love you" scene in season four episode _97 Seconds_. Wilson and House discus their relationship, and House's actions i.e. his sticking a knife into an electrical socket. Spoilers for _97 Seconds, Merry Little Christmas, and One Day One Room _I think it's just a one shot, but I could be wrong, you never know. Please review no flames.

"Please stay; Please stay.  
Two words I've thought I'd never learn to say.  
Don't go away; please stay.

Don't leave me here,

when so many things so hard to see are clear,  
I need you near to me," Warren Zevon.

House says, "I love you," when I write the order to up his pain meds, but frankly I was hopping the morphine might make him shut up.

"You don't mean that," I tell him, and start to walk towards the door. He closes his eyes, sighing, and I fifth back the urge to scream at him. "You know, of all the stupid things you've ever done, this is the dumbest."

"You tell me that at least once a week," he whines, exhaling sharply. "And I did, I do—you know…" He whimpers when I reach for the doorknob. "Would you stay if I said I wanted you here?"

"Do you really want me to stay, or is this another one of your little mind games?"

"Are you going to make me actually come right out and say it?" he begs. Looking into his eyes I can almost see what he must be feeling, but I can't let him get away with something like this, and I definitely can't let him go on living a life where he can look at a suicide attempt as a diagnostic tool. "Please stay."

I sit down next to House's bed, and he reaches his hand over across the railing, squeezing my fingers weakly. I rub my thumb over his wrist, as I lean over the bed to kiss him. He laughs, and pushes me away. "Lock the door first, Brainiac." House's soft, drugged out voice fades softly and he blinks a few times before falling asleep.

While he's napping I run around the hospital, taking care of everything so I can be alone with him for the rest of today and tonight. I sign out for the day, pawn my clinic duty off on Cameron, rush back to his room, lock the door, and sit at his bedside. He's out for over an hour, and when he comes to House moans, and reaches for me again.

"Sign this first," I order, handing over the piece of paper I've been working on ever since I got back. He looks at the document, groans loudly and hands it back to me.

"Just give me a brief synopsis. My head is throbbing. I feel like somebody put my brain in a blender or maybe a toaster."

"That's funny, most people find electrocution to be invigorating," I snap, ignoring him when he rolls his eyes. "Basically it lists every possible method a person might use to try and kill themselves, and then says that you won't try to do any of them."

"For the last time, I wasn't trying to kill myself—not permanently anyway. I wanted to prove a point. So, I created a hypothesis, and then I tested my theory to see whether or not I was right."

"You were dead! I don't care what you were or weren't trying to do there is nothing to be learned from sticking a knife into a wall socket and—." I don't know what I'm supposed to say next.

"Do you know how many people die each year from being in elevators when the cable breaks?"

"No, but I get the feeling I'm about to. Are you really going to sit there and tell me that you don't see the difference between somebody swallowing a fist full of painkillers and bourbon, and riding in an elevator?"

"This time it was completely different. I didn't want to die; I had to see if I was right, which I was by the way."

"So rather than admit you might possibly be wrong you decided to stick a knife into a power outlet? Do you have any idea how insane your logic is?"

"I proved my point, which means I don't have anything to argue about because I was right, which means that I don't have any reason to even think about doing it again."

"You didn't have a reason to do it last time, but you still killed yourself," I cut him off, shouting again, reaching my hand out to stroke his cheek. He grabs it, and kisses my palm.

"You sure you locked the door, Jimmy?" he asks, wincing again, but this time I know he's faking it to make me up his meds again, and yet I do what he wants all the same.

"Would you just, for once, can you—please. I really don't ask you to do that many things. Don't give me the look, I don't. I lecture you every time you do something crazy or stupid, but when was the last time I asked you to do something?"

"Last week you wanted to sleep at my place because your hotel was being fumigated. Speaking of which, I'm starving…could really go for some fried chicken right about now."

"Stop it." He doesn't respond to my request, except to laugh, and run his hand through his hair. Based on the look in his eyes, House is trying to come up with more jokes. "Please, I don't think I can handle any more of this today. I spent two hours trying to convince the guys in the pysch department it would be more work to let you go than if they were to try and deal with keeping you on the ward for seventy-two hours."

"If I'm not on a hold then how come I've gotta sleep here tonight?" You'd think a doctor—especially House—would be able to recognize their own health problems/ diagnose themselves, but right now he's bored and trying to annoy me.

"Because your heart stopped and you were technically dead for a minute, for more than a minute! And I'm no longer talking about this because you're just trying to piss me off, and I won't give it to you."

"I'm on a morphine drip, and you're going to try and argue that you aren't an enabler?"

"Do you have any idea what it is like for me, being your friend, your—whatever we are? On a daily basis you bug me, bug patients, scare my patients, kidnap my patients—"

"One time!"

"Break laws, yell at me, call me names, call your patients names, take mind altering drugs, stick knives into power outlets, speed, drive your motorcycle without a helmet, and I worry about…that I'm gonna lose…never mind."

"I'm not going anywhere Wilson. I like my—I like…Life is short, and this is all there is, so why shouldn't I have fun?"

"Electrocuting yourself is fun? Maybe I _should_ let them commit you."

"Look, um—do you think you could not make a big deal out of this, okay? I am never going to put anything into an electrical socket ever again."

"Good," I spat, too upset to do anything other than get mad at him. It's a lot easier for me to fight with him than try and have a real conversation, just like it is easier for him to make jokes.

"If I told you I was sorry for what I had do, would you maybe relax, just a little bit and…" His voice is soft, and small, like a child afraid of being beaten. Then again, with his history, I guess I can't blame him.

"Are you really sorry or—are you sorry?"

"I did something I should have done, but my feeling bad or guilty about what I did isn't going to change anything, and so there's really no reason for me to do that, but I didn't mean to make you feel sad, or scared, or worried, or—and for that I am sorry," he admits, weakly, and I—knowing how difficult it is for him to acknowledge something like this—decide to lay off, just for the evening. Then he looks up at me, nervous and desperate for approval from anyone, even me. "Did I do that right?"

"Yeah, you did it perfectly—the apology part I mean. Look, I will put up with any amount of verbal abuse you can throw at me, all of your insane weirdness, and I will write prescriptions for you for the next million years, and I'll never leave you. I will not let this thing we have break, because it's the only good thing in either of our lives, and I love you. But, if you ever try to—if you…don't do this anymore, okay?" House takes in a deep breath, and exhales slowly. "You need to think this over?"

"No, I just—I wasn't sure. Did you put sodium pentathol in my IV?" he asks, with a light chuckle. "Do you think, that is if you don't mid, would you come over here and uh—if you tell anyone about this I will stick your knife in a wall socket, if you catch my drift—I don't like to be alone at night. Please stay?"

"I just told you—yeah, I'll stay, but only if you scoot over," I explain, climbing into the hospital bed with House, and wrapping my arms around his body. He presses his head into my chest, and drifts off into a deep sleep, but I just lay still. It is then, and only then that I allow myself to cry, just a little; I don't wanna wake him up, but if I don't let this out I'm going to explode. As weird as it might seem, and as crappy situation it might have come out of, I think we might have made a breakthrough, of some kind, today.


End file.
